House Wooing
by John Faina
Summary: This is how it went down when House and Wilson reunited after House broke out of the slammer.


**Title: House Wooing**

**Author: John Faina**

**Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 for situations I s'pose. Though there is no foul language that I can recall, nor any explicit sexual encounters.**

**Pairings/Characters: House/Wilson of course.**

**Disclaimer: Ooh-**_**wee**_**, if I owned House...**

**Genre: Friendship/Romance/Hurt/Comfort(kinda)**

Wilson looked across the table and saw House sitting there.

Of course, it made sense that he would be, given that he had invited him to dinner, but...boy, what an idiot he'd been. How long had he been prepared to fool himself into thinking that he was able to stay away from House once he'd been sprung from prison? He knew almost the moment House entered the room and locked eyes with him that the gears and levers were turning and turning fast, concocting up all the ways to win Wilson back, and the thing was - his subconcious had been looking forward to it. In some sick, twisted way, he had wanted House to do whatever he could to fight for their friendship.

The sick, twisted part of the situation was that Wilson hadn't been planning on letting him win it.

In front of him, House, noticing his inner turmoil, slowly lowered the fork he was about to drive into a thick steak, and dipped his head a little in order to catch Wilson's gaze. For the first time, perhaps ever, he was silent.

Clearing his throat, Wilson blinked and then sighed. He abandoned his own fork and sat back in his chair before rubbing his eyes, though he was not in the least bit tired.

"Okay..." he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone. House watched him carefully, completely disregarding the food he had seemed so enthusiastic about moments earlier. Wilson sat forward again, leaning over the table and placing his elbows onto it, and locked eyes with...well, someone who was impossibly undescribable. He then glanced down momentarily, pulled his bottom lip into his mouth in thought, glanced back up, and said decisively, "House, I wasn't lying when I said I didn't like you."

He could have sworn he heard House inhale sharply at these words, but it was so soft that there was no way to be certain. What he definitely saw, however, was House instantly drop his gaze to stare instead at the plate of breadsticks between them. He said nothing still.

Wow. Wilson felt his throat begin to close up. He, right now more than ever before, had the power to hurt this man. Badly. It was revolting. It was so wrong. Even if the bastard did deserve it. He wrenched his throat back open to continue, "Your ability to solve things can't possibly be clouded because of something that _I_ - Come on, House." His stare was intent, but as soft as he could handle.

House's brow furrowed slightly as he lifted his eyes. "I don't know...I don't know what you mean, Wilson."

"Yes, you do," Wilson argued quietly.

"You're trying to tell me something."

"Brilliant deduction."

House's eyes searched his own almost desperately. "You don't like me."

Wilson shook his head. "No. I don't."

"And you...punched me in the face."

Wilson nodded. "Yes. You told me to."

"You did that because I told you to...so...we could move on with our friendship."

"Ah," said Wilson, pointing at him, "that's where you're wrong. I punched you because I - _really_ wanted to punch you. I just didn't realize how much until you suggested it. I think it's something I've wanted to do for a long time."

"I know...I know," House said gruffly, dropping his gaze again. "I'm an ass. I get it." He paused. "How's your hand?"

"I doubt there's a person alive who would disagree with that," Wilson said, rolling his eyes, choosing to ignore the stupid question.

House looked up sharply. "What are you trying to do?" he asked, though there was only minimal anger in his voice. It was more like...concealed pleading.

Wilson raised his eyebrows in order to conceal a few emotions of his own. "I'm just trying to make you understand that I _really_ don't like you."

"Funny how a year _away_ from me turned you _into_ me." House snapped.

Wilson blinked. "_You've _turned into a complete idiot."

"What the hell's the point of punching me out and then inviting me to dinner?" House asked, the anger now more apparent, but still not fully there. He was genuinely hurt and confused. "I'd love to know. Just to further prove your point by getting my hopes up for winning you back and then _crushing _them? To show just how much you _hate _me? Just to show how much you don't want me in your life anymore? How much you don't need me? Dammit, Wilson, I _know_ you don't. You don't have to - "

"Shh," Wilson shushed him with a glance toward the tables around them. A couple of people were looking curiously in their direction and the last thing he wanted was some great scene. House actually listened to him and bit back whatever words he was going to say next, his blue eyes absolutely blazing with the hurt and frustration he was obviously feeling. Wilson was amazed. He leaned forward even more, locked eyes with him again, and said softly, "I wouldn't do that. You _know_ I wouldn't do that. That would be heartless and cruel, even for you. House, _think._ Think about us. Think about how we've always been able to communicate without words..." He made a little gesture. "I don't - I don't like you. I don't really know how to be any clearer."

House swallowed, staring at him as though he were the new Dean of Medicine. "Wilson..."

"Mm-hm...go on."

"You - " House broke off, sighing, and cursed under his breath.

"What?"

House sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I need some air." He made to get up.

"Don't," said Wilson firmly. "Sit down."

House hesitated, frowing. "Y'know, just because you're holding the threat of our friendship over my head doesn't mean you get to jerk me around like a damn puppet."

"I'm not holding - ! House, for God's sake, I've never in my life had to _spell_ something out to you. What is keeping you from - "

"Nothing!" House plopped back down into his seat. "_No_thing." He took a deep breath. "You love me. Yes. You have to. You've known me and interacted with me for so long that it's just something you _can't help_. I'm your older brother and I stole your girlfriend. You love me. But you don't like me. I _get_ it! I don't need you to spell anything out for me."

People were definitely giving them looks now. Wilson found that he hardly cared. Why should he? Besides, now they thought they knew what was going on, and they were totally wrong, which was somewhat of a comfort. Never tearing his eyes away from House, he shook his head a little, his heart thumping energetically.

"You're wrong," he said.

"You're saying you - "

"Shut up and let me finish," Wilson interrupted quietly, feeling his face heat up with it all. "House, it's not _I love you, but I don't like you_. It's more...I don't _like_ you...I love you. There a really b - h-huge difference."

House quickly opened his mouth to fire off some sort of retort, and stopped cold as if he had just realized what had been said. His mouth closed again. Leaning back in his chair, he held an air of shock and surprise that Wilson had never seen before in him. Their gaze never broke. The silence stretched on for so long that the people at the tables around them eventually stopped trying to hear what was going to happen next. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant continued on. Their server came by and re-filled Wilson's water glass. He forgot to thank her.

Finally, after minutes of staring and wondering, House came back at him with, "Okay, I don't - I don't - "

Wilson smiled a little. "I _can_ spell it out for you," he joked lightly. "If you want."

"M-maybe that'd be - "

"_Huh_," Wilson murmured when it was apparent that that was all he was going to get. "I'm...not sure I've ever heard you stutter before. Or not be able to finish a sentence."

House just blinked at him.

"Alright," Wilson said softly, pushing his plate out of the way so that he could lean in even further toward House. "You nearly ran me over with your car. You caused me to break my wrist on your wild rampage into the front of Cuddy's house. You then proceeded to walk away from it all, seemingly without a care in the world, and you end up in jail. But the thing is - I know you didn't mean to hurt me or kill anyone. And you turned yourself in out of guilt. You did your time, you paid the price for your moment of insanity." Wilson paused. "Did you - did you ever wonder if anyone missed you?"

House squinted at him, and then nodded slightly.

"Well - honestly, the answer is no. Nobody missed you, House, because we all needed a break. I think...in _every_one's case, prison was a good thing. It kind of helped clear everyone's head. We all moved on. I somehow managed to convince myself that _I_ was better off without you. But we both know I wasn't, because I love you so damn much that not having you there, or somewhere _close_, makes me feel like I'm not really living my life like I'm supposed to. So I _knew _that I wouldn't be able to keep myself from talking to you, seeking you out - " Wilson sighed. "Taking you back. Still, that didn't stop me from dragging you along a little bit...you know, playing it up. I knew it wouldn't - I mean - I love you, House. I can't - I can't just push you out of my life. I don't _want_ to push you out. And I never lied because I _don't_ like you, I love you and I have fun with you. I punched you both because I wanted to and because I was so relieved that you'd given me a suggestion I could work with and appear somewhat sane. I didn't do it so that we could move on with our friendship, though. I thought...we could move on to something bigger. Better. If you wanted. That's what I'm trying to say."

The smallest of smiles was tugging at each corner of House's mouth.

"I wonder - " he began after a moment. He stopped and started over. "You're aware that, in no less than ten minutes, you used the "L" word four times."

Wilson thought about that before nodding his agreement. "I guess that's another thing I've wanted to do for a while now."

Now there were whispers and murmurs starting up all around them, and Wilson had a feeling he knew what they were talking about, but, still, he didn't care. All he cared about was the way House was going to react to all of this. Wilson continued to watch him, his arms crossed on the table.

House raised an eyebrow at him, the small smile still evident.

A sudden wheezy voice caused both of them to whip their heads around.

"Well, go ahead, what are you waiting for?" said an elderly red-headed woman from a table diagonal to them, just feet away. "Kiss him!" A couple of people chuckled nervously.

"_Mom_!" hissed a woman, whose face was as red as her mother's hair. She looked simply scandalized. A man who must have been her husband turned around halfway to face them with a little amused smirk.

"Sorry for that, gentlemen. She's...you know..." He appeared to struggle for an accurate description.

Wilson waved him off, biting his lip, but House had taken on a very thoughtful expression. "You know..." he said in a gravelly voice, trailing off. Then, without taking his eyes off Wilson, he said over his shoulder, "Ma'am, that idea's not half-bad," and leaned across the table until their faces were mere centimeters apart. Their area of the place went silent, but the only things Wilson really noticed were House's familiar blue eyes and the feeling of anticipation bucking and rolling in the pit of his stomach. Then House kissed him and he didn't hesitate to kiss back amidst the gasps, odd whistles, and finally claps. Wilson's entire body flushed with emotions. He pulled away rather quickly, unable to keep the somewhat embarrassed grin from taking over his face, and jerked his head toward the door. House grabbed his cane and stood, his eyes pretty much gleaming.

"That's all, folks," he said to everyone who was staring at them. "Hope you enjoyed your dinner and a show, now if - "

"Will you - " Wilson began, struggling with his wallet. He managed to extract a couple of twenties, slapped them down onto the table and then tugged on House's jacket sleeve. "_Come on_ - "

House allowed himself to be pulled in the direction of the door; however, not without announcing loudly, "Lover Boy's anxious to get it on, so we have to go now. Goodbye!"

Neither of them looked back to see the looks on peoples' faces, but made it the rest of the way out the door and to Wilson's car. Once they were inside it, Wilson let out a breath, his hands loosely holding the steering wheel, and allowed his head to fall back against the seat. He looked at House; House was already looking at him. They were both grinning.

::::::

House's apartment wasn't far from the restaurant at all; they were there in under twenty minutes. However, when Wilson pulled into a parking space and killed the engine, he placed a hand on House's wrist to stop him from getting out. It was the thought of being together...being alone together...in such a familiar place. Under such unfamiliar circumstances. Wilson wasn't sure he could handle it just yet. Not that he was planning on jumping him as soon as they walked into the place, it was just - well, truthfully, he was just displaying his idocity again. There was really no reason to remain in the car other than pure cowardice, so he let go of House (who was looking at him curiously), made a _nevermind_ gesture, and stepped out onto the pavement.

As they walked to the front door, their arms brushing like old times, House glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and said, with a hint of nervous uncertainty, "Say it again."

Wilson only hesitated for a moment. This was entirely due to surprise. _House_, uncertain? House needing and, yes, possibly _wanting_ to be reassured about something? He never thought he'd live to see the day. But he was very glad he had. When they reached the door, he intentionally blocked the golden knob to face House, who looked down slightly at him, his eyes searching. Wilson smiled at him, pleased that he was back. Whatever he'd told House...he had been missed. If not by anyone else, then by him. Terribly by him.

"Let me try this," he said softly, before reaching up and putting his hands gently on House's jacket-covered shoulders, enjoying the intent look he received, but not acknowledging it. He squeezed his shoulders a little, getting the feel of it, of being this close. He leaned forward and gave House a very small, very gentle kiss on the mouth. When he pulled back, he saw with a surge of emotional pleasure that House's eyelids had fluttered closed. Wilson kissed him one more time and then slipped a few fingers into his graying hair. There was a pause before he murmured, "...hair's gotten long..."

"H...haven't had it cut in months," House responded, opening his eyes and looking at him in a way that he had never quite experienced before. It warmed Wilson from his toes to his fingertips. He could not keep the _smile_ off his face to save his life, even though House's lack of a haircut forcibly reminded him of where he'd been for the past year.

"I can tell," he said, brushing the hair back slowly, leizurely. His fingers came to rest at the nape of House's neck; he toyed with the hair there as well, though, after a while, he became unaware that he was doing so. It wasn't odd, being with House like this. Not as odd as he'd imagined it would be. Touching him, speaking softly to him...it seemed almost natural. It seemed like it had been a long time coming. Now House was smiling back at him, tentatively wrapping his arms around him, reeling him in. Wilson allowed his arms to creep around House's neck, thus pressing their foreheads together for a moment, until they were basically standing there on the doorstep, hugging.

Wilson pulled him as close as he possibly could, having never had the opportunity to do so in twenty-one years. All the years of putting each other through every type of emotion a human being was capable of feeling, from the lowest depression, to the highest happiness (if only for a minute or two), was silently discussed with this single embrace. It seemed that contact was the key. Wilson knew that this would solve so much of the tension that seemed to surround them all the time. No words. They hardly ever needed words anyway, so it made perfect sense to him. As far as he was concerned, they would never have to verbally discuss anything ever again. It was that special connection they had...it was so _weird_, yet so wonderful...

House hugged Wilson tightly to him, his arms locked securely around his middle, pressing the two of them together very effectively.

"You wanna go in?" he asked against Wilson's ear. Wilson nodded, still smiling slightly. He reluctantly extracted himself from House and turned to face the door, reaching into his pocket for his key. House remained right at his back until the door was opened, and then they slipped inside, closing it behind them.

"I need to ask you something," Wilson said, making sure that he could see House's face by clicking on a lamp. An extremely dusty lamp.

"What the _hell_ - " House began, before he stopped. A look of comprehension came over his features as he glanced around his apartment. Wilson followed his gaze, his lips pressed into a line. The entire place was coated with a generous layer of dust and there was a faint garbage-y smell that was most likely stemming from the kitchen; there was no telling how much rotten food was in there. And Wilson was prepared to bet that there was no running water. Someone had apparently taken care of the electricity bill - but who? Foreman? He'd been the one to spring House from jail and get him his old office back, so it made a bit of sense. He sighed.

"I'll...help you with whatever you need to make this place habitable again. Tomorrow." Wilson took a step forward. "Okay?"

House's gaze had returned to him the moment he'd spoken. He nodded curtly. Wilson noticed that he looked a little...put out. Disappointed. Had he honestly expected his apartment to have been perfectly maintained in his absence? Surely not. Perhaps he had simply not thought about it much, what with everything else that had been going on. Wilson came to a halt directly in front of him, peering up into his face.

"You alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Course I am," House answered in a gruff voice. "I just - regret - more than ever - doing what I did. Unless this thing between us wouldn't have happened otherwise - "

"Not a chance," Wilson interrupted quickly. "Not a chance. You really couldn't see it, could you? How much I cared? Or else you turned a blind eye, which, now that I think about it, seems more probable."

"So you think it would have happened regardless."

"Absolutely."

House nodded, the corners of his mouth turning upward again. "You never did say it again."

"Right. I _love_ you," said Wilson without hesitation. He wasn't even too surprised at how easily the words rolled off his tongue. What _did_ surprise him was how they affected House, who shot him a trademark smirk tinged with apparent relief and affection. He reached for Wilson's hand, nudging it gently. Wilson took the initiative and wrapped it around House's, squeezing.

"I love you, too," House said in his gravelly voice. He gave a soft little chuckle that was more like a sharp exhale and fixed his eyes upon Wilson's left shoulder. "I...it's _al_ways been you, Wilson."

Wilson felt as if his heart were being contricted with some sort of rope. He nodded, willing the dampness away from his eyes. "I know," he replied softly.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Wilson swallowed a number of times, and eventually remembered what he'd been meaning to ask.

"Mind if I ask you something?"

House shook his head, looking curious.

"How - how was prison? I mean - how did you - ?"

"How did I get out of there alive?"

Wilson shook his head. "No - I'm sure you were - _you_. I had no doubt that you'd be able to take care of yourself, but - "

"I got knocked around a bit. That's all."

"You did?" Wilson asked, unable to stop the concern from entering his voice and expression. He began to feel guilty for not visiting.

"What did you expect?" House responded without even a hint of his old mocking sarcasm. "I was locked up for _months_ with murderers and guys who beat their wives."

Wilson sighed, frowning, and nodded. "I'm...sorry you had to go through that."

House jerked his head as if tossing the statement over his shoulder. "I deserved it."

Wilson locked eyes with him with a small, sad smile. "There are a lot of things you deserve, but getting physically beaten up isn't one of them," he said, poking House's cane with the tip of his shoe. House shrugged. Wilson sighed. "Listen - this probably goes without saying, but I want to tell you upfront what I _hope_ to get out of a relationship with you."

"Okay," House said, his gaze focused.

Wilson took a step toward him, and hesitantly snaked his arms in through the flaps of House's jacket, winding them around his middle, while resting his head on House's shoulder.

"This," he said firmly, closing his eyes.

"Seriously?" House asked, likewise resting his cheek against Wilson's head. "You're not gonna ask me to please stop trying to kill myself? Stop with the Vicodin?"

"No," Wilson replied, kissing his shoulder. "I'm - this is not the magic cure to all of your problems, and I can accept that. I just...want to be able to be there for you."

"You're there for me," House told him, gruffly and quietly.

"I'm saying, when you come home from the hospital looking stressed and miserable as hell, I'll sit you down on the edge of your bed and give you the best back massage you've ever had - and when your leg's in bad shape, I'll hold onto your hand as tight as you need until the pain passes, and I'll just - I'll do everything I can to make you feel good. Because...I mean, you're the one, House, you've always been the one, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't get to show you e_very_day how important you are to me. It's been really hard - "

House didn't wait a beat. "Move in with me," he rumbled, his voice trembling slightly. "Right now, tonight - I can't go to your place, so you have to stay here. You need to - Wilson, for God's sake, _marry_ me."

Wilson chuckled, his stomach in his throat.

"You think I'm kidding, I'm not. Marry me."

Wilson shook his head against House, swallowing. "You know...one day, if you decided you really want that, I'd do it in a second."

There was a pause. Then House asked, "Really?"

"Of course. I told you, you're the guy. And it's completely legal in the state of New Jersey, by the way."

"Well, then, consider this my proposal."

Wilson leaned back to peer into his face, his hands still gripping his middle. He narrowed his eyes. "You're serious. You don't believe in marriage."

"I don't," House agreed, running his fingers gingerly through Wilson's hair. He kissed his forehead. "But you do. You're the only person I would ever even _think_ about getting hitched to for life. I doubt we'd become miserable with each other after all this crap."

Wilson smiled. "Why, House. I could be wrong, but I think you're being...romantic."

House rolled his eyes and looked away, trying to appear bashful. "Shut up."

Chuckling, Wilson pressed their foreheads together and kissed him once. "My one regret about this is that it took _this_ long," he said, unconsciously bunching the material of House's shirt in his fists. House, one of his hands still in Wilson's hair, brought the other hand up to cup his face, stroking his temple with his thumb.

"I honestly didn't think it would happen at all," he told him, kissing the bridge of his nose. "So no complaints here." He kissed the tip of his nose.

Wilson felt these..._sensations_ that he hadn't felt in years in the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes again as House kissed his cheek, and then his jaw and his neck, and his neck once more. He tilted his head slightly to the side and back, releasing his hold on House's shirt.

"Here we go," House murmured against him. "Heart rate's elevating...pupil's are dilating...I've pathetically imagined this a thousand times. Although - under different circumstances."

"What circumstances?" Wilson asked breathlessly. He knew this was it. "And how do you know my pupil's are dilating?"

House's lips found Wilson's pulse point, and closed around it, sucking lightly.

"_Ah_ - um - "  
>"Not yours, you moron, <em>mine<em>," came the low voice that caused vibrations to run up his throat.

"You can't tell when your own - "

House was slowly untucking his shirt, pressing their heads together and looking down to focus on his actions. "Oh, believe me, I can tell. I know what I'm feeling - I know what _you're_ feeling - ever since you wrapped your little arms around me on the doorstep, this is what you wanted, though you've been trying to convince yourself that's going to fast. Well, that's just simply not true."

"No - i-it's not," Wilson agreed, as his shirt was freed from his pants.

"I've never waited so long for something I wanted," House told him, pulling him impossibly close. "Never _not_ pounced at the first promising opportunity." He continued to kiss his neck. "How long was that...about twenty-one years, wasn't it?"

"If you're willing to admit you've been pining after me for that long," Wilson said, starting to untuck House's shirt before he remembered that House never tucked in his shirt. So instead, he began to unbutton it.

"God no," House growled into his collarbone. "Maybe twenty."

Wilson let out a puff of air, pushing House's jacket from his shoulders so that he could have better access to him. It fell to the ground at their feet. "What circumstances?" he insisted.

"Well, I'd never been in jail, for one thing," House said, loosening Wilson's tie and kissing the exposed skin as he did so. Wilson had never imagined how good that could feel. "It happened without all the pain and drama. Suffering. For another...there was one daydream I had where we were in the clinic, and another, we were in my office..."

"Your office has glass walls!" Wilson exclaimed, unsurprised. For a reason he was unable to fathom, the thought that House had imagined these things didn't excite him or please him in the slightest. House imagined having sex with everybody, and, truth be told, he had known for years that House had imagined it with him before. How could he not have? It was natural to be curious.

House, as if sensing the sudden change in him, pulled back. His sharp blue eyes searched for the cause, and then softened as Wilson ran one hand down the length of his arm, offering a half smile to show that he was fine, but a little displeased. House frowned back, his eyes alight with understanding.

"Why would you think that?" he asked quietly.

Wilson tilted his head, staring.

House swiftly licked his own lips, reached out, and grabbed Wilson's hands, squeezing them almost painfully. "You idiot. You're my best friend. You think I only considered the physical aspect of _us_? No," he said, sweeping a thumb over his knuckles, "no, no, no, no...I can't tell you how many times I imagined you telling me you love me."

"Seriously?" Wilson responded, pleasure coloring his tone, and beginning to creep into his cheeks at those words, which sounded so unfamiliar.

"No." House's eyes twinkled.

"Bastard."

House's eyes practically sparkled. Wilson laughed.

"I do love you."

"So you've said."

"God, House..." Wilson trailed off, his fingers moving to continue the job of unbuttoning House's shirt. "I love you so much..." His forehead rested on House's collarbone as he did this.

"Can we - my room's down the hall," House told him in a strained voice.

"I know that." Wilson smiled.

And, abandoning the job once more, he straightened up, took House by the hand and pulled him in that direction. Neither of them noticed the sound of water running through the pipes in the ceiling or felt the air conditioning as they tumbled down onto House's sizeable bed.


End file.
